Ravenous
by lonegunga1
Summary: A crazed stalker gtes his hands on Scully; can Mulder save her in time? (STRONG R for language and rape scene) Please R&R, thanx!


Title: Ravenous

Author: Elizabeth Christian

Email: lonegunga1@yahoo.com

Category: Scully-Centric

Rating: strong R

I stood in the shadows, watching, waiting.  As a wolf hunts his prey, I watched her.  I could hardly stand the wait for the kill, to feel her warm cunt beneath my hands, cleansing that part of my soul that craved the essence of innocence, the blood of the pure.  I felt that if I could just get my hands on her, make her love me as I loved her, I would be complete.  I would take her into me, she would become a part of me, and then, then victory would be in my grasp at last.  After all this time, sitting in the cold silence under the gaze of the water-crest moon, in the hands of the mist and the comforting mattress of leaves on which I crouched like a gargoyle night after night, I began to feel that I deserved perhaps another handsome reward, something more than her delicious pussy.  True, just having her in my hands would be the sweetest moment of my life, but I needed something more solid, more concrete, so that I could look at it in my old age and say to myself, "Ah, yes, the Red-Haired Goddess, my greatest victory."  And then the memories would come flooding back to me as I lay in my bed, lulling me to sleep and bringing the sweetest dreams to my mind.  Yes, yes I would take a trophy from this beauty.

And as I watched, wondering what I could possibly take that would sum up all these years of waiting and gazing, I saw the man come into her building.  I never knew his name—I didn't know hers, either, at that point—but I had seen them together so many times that I was certain they were a couple...or at least fucking.  That knowledge filled me with a burning rage so consuming that I felt I would burst into flames at any second.  How could she love him, him of all people, when I stood there outside her window night after night, not daring to show my face lest my devotion frighten her?  Yes, I was quite the gentleman, not disturbing her at any time of the day, unlike this person who would come to her door at all hours of the night.  He seemed to have no respect for this goddess who had stolen my heart on that wonderful day not so long ago…

I let the memories play in my mind again, running them around in my mind as I would a fine wine on my tongue, letting the sweetness overpower me.

My boss brought in a guy one day for me, said he may have slipped a group of women the date-rape drug and gotten them pregnant.  He needed me to hold this guy for questioning.  I had gotten a job as a deputy—thank you very much for the pressuring, Dad, but I would've rather been a fireman than one of those damned men in blue—at the only station in Martinsburg, West Virginia.  I'd seen some weird folks come in, drunks mostly, but this accused rapist had been different.  He _watched_**.   He had these eyes that stared right at you, right in the eyes, like he was trying to memorize you or something.  It made me feel all weird inside, like I'd been violated and made unclean.  He looked at me like I was some _thing_, something to study and categorize like I wasn't a human being.  I got the feeling I was a joke to this guy.**

Turns out he was a lot weirder than I'd thought.  Right in the middle of me putting him in the records, I looked at this guy and he wasn't him anymore.  He'd been this sort of pudgy balding loser type before, the kind that would have a job as a janitor or garbage-man, the kind that would never amount to anything.  Well I looked at him and then I was looking at myself.  I thought I was looking in a mirror or something, until he swung something really hard at me and knocked me out of my chair.  The last thing I heard before I blacked out was, "The 'h' is silent."

The first thing I saw when I woke up was this angel standing over me, and I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.  She was just so beautiful.  Her hair looked like fire, and the light from my desk lamp hit her just right.  She lit up like the star on top of my Christmas tree.  Her eyes though, her eyes were the best part of her.  They were this perfect indescribable blue.  I had seen the sunrise once, in college after a dusk-till-dawn party, and her eyes were the exact same color as the sky when the sun peeked up over the horizon.  It was the most gorgeous color I'd ever seen.  And they had these little outlines around the pupil that were midnight blue, and the way her eyes sparkled reminded me of the stars that had comforted me as a child.  Her skin was smooth and pale, like fresh milk.  I knew the second I saw her that I loved her.

I don't remember that conversation very well, and I couldn't for the life of me remember their names.  I just kept staring at her lips and imagining the feel of them on my own.  I think I mumbled something along the lines of, "Yeah, he hit me with my ceramic pig," but for all I know I didn't say a word at all.  I got home that night and couldn't think of anything but her.  Then I realized that she probably didn't even know my name, and that worried me; what if she felt the same way about me but couldn't get in touch?  I was scared then, and I asked my boss if he could help me out…but he said no.  Said he couldn't give out any personal information on her.  Just said that she was FBI and that that was all I should know.  Period.

So I quit my job—I had never liked it anyway.  My boss was a dick-head, and I'd been an outsider among my coworkers since the beginning; they said that I was crazy… so what?  So what if I never talked to them and kept to myself?  So I muttered about my ex-girlfriends a lot.  So I kept a diary of all the thoughts I had, all those vicious and perverse fantasies about killing all those girls because they broke my heart.  Those people shouldn't have been snooping in my locker to begin with!  Fuck them, I thought, all I need is my Red-Haired Goddess.  I took all the money out of my bank account, which wasn't much to begin with, and hopped on a plane to Washington, D.C.  I staked out the FBI Office, hoping and praying to God that I would see her again.  Then, one morning, one blessed blessed morning about a week later, I did.  She was easy to spot: a light followed her around, setting her above and beyond all the others.  It was a beacon to my lost and lonely soul, drawing me to her like a lighthouse draws a boat to safe harbor.

I walked up to her that day and my heart's intent was to tell her how I felt and to have her fling herself into my arms.  We would go off into the sunset and make love to each other for all eternity.  But I didn't do it.  I had played the scene in my mind so many times, but I had never taken into the equation that she might not remember who I was.  She gave me blank stare, and that startled me so much that my mouth didn't spill forth the poetic vows I had rehearsed in my mind since I'd first seen her.  So I just asked her for the time.  She told me that it was 8:24 and I asked her if she wanted a cup of coffee.  She said no, she was late for work, sorry.  Yeah, sure, late for work, I hadn't heard that excuse before.  Later I chided myself for being to forward; old-fashioned girl that she appeared to be, my Goddess wouldn't want to get involved with a man whom she'd just met.

She didn't know that I followed her home that day, nor that I followed her to work the next.  She was oblivious to the dark-haired man that set up a hotdog stand across the street, always in the shadows, watching her every move.  I suppose I hoped and dreaded that she would turn and see me one day; at least then she'd know I was there.  But she might think I was stalking her or something.  That would be preposterous; me, a stalker?  No way.  Stalkers were creepy old men who would call and hang up—and I only did that once or twice.  Stalkers were people you'd see in movies, not the kind admirer who watched from a distance and only dreamed of you, maybe took a few pictures and stared at them, thinking sick and wonderful thoughts but never, ever acting on them…

That was nearly three years ago, three years of watching and waiting and plotting my conquest.  I had long ago abandoned those notions I'd held during the first week; I knew I was stalking her and felt no qualms about acting as my movie counterparts did.  If I was going to be stereotyped, it may as well be for the right reasons, right?  I would live up to the expectations of the masses; they would get what they wanted.  And they wanted her to be mine.  I was more than happy to oblige.

I decided that tonight was the night, the night she would be mine.  All I had to do was wait a little longer—after three years, what were a few more hours—for that Devil in a Suit to leave.  Funny, in all the time I had watched, he had hardly ever stayed the night.  Must've been a five-minute fuck.  I watched their shadows move around inside her apartment like ghosts and wondered what they could be doing in there.  Maybe they were arguing, I hoped against hope, maybe they were breaking up.  That would make it so much easier for her to love me, then.  With him out of the picture, it would be us, together forever… whether she liked it or not.

Finally at about midnight, after an hour of crouching in the bushes like a cat ready to pounce, the man left.  He looked angry and slammed the door of his car as he got in…so they must have had a pretty bad fight.  That was the only explanation.  I waited—when had I done anything but wait for so agonizingly long—I waited so patiently as his rear lights faded into little red pinpricks in the blanket of night, and then they disappeared all together.  I knew then that it was the time to act.  My days and nights of waiting were about to come to a beautiful bloody fruition.

Oh, the look on her face when she opened the door!  Did she recognize me: the deputy, the man on the street, the vendor whose stand was across the road from her office?  No, she had no clue who I was, but she could tell why I was there from the ropes in my hand.  "Are you going to come quietly, girly girl, or does Sean have to use force?" I said, breaking the chain of her door as I forced my way inside.  I heard my voice in my own head, and it sounded ravenous.  Her eyes—those dawn-blue eyes that had bewitched me so—went wide with fear, and her seductive lips were trembling.  Her whole body, in fact, shook as I stepped closer and closer, closing in on the kill.

As if her mind suddenly started working again, she whipped her gun from its holster around her tiny waist.  Dammit, I should've thought of that.  Of course an FBI agent would carry a gun.  But her Smith & Wesson would be no match for me, uh-uh.  Before she could even think of pulling the trigger and knocking me down before the fun even began, I rushed and grabbed her from behind, pressing my faithful switchblade to her pretty little throat.  Holding the blade gave me such a sense of power, like the light of the sun to Superman.  I could do anything as long as I had that knife.  "Drop the gun, baby, or my wrist might just twitch and then, oops, no more Red-Haired Goddess," I hissed as I pushed the blade harder against her skin, and a small trickle of blood seeped out.  She dropped her weapon and it clattered loudly to the floor.

"Are you going to come quietly?" I said, and my voice sounded like a wolf growling at its prey.  It's coming, I told myself.  It's coming.

I tied her tightly by the hands, the ropes cutting into her flesh as I tied them behind her back.  She flinched instinctively as I duct-taped her mouth shut.  Switchblade pressed against her spine, I led her out to my van.  Once I wrestled her into the rear seat—she kicked at me the entire time, struggling to break free—I tied her legs together.  The ropes around her wrist I attached to the oh-shit handles.  She wouldn't be getting out of that anytime soon.   To be safe, I put a blindfold over her eyes…my black handkerchief.

Three times I switched cars on that drive, just in case anyone had seen me shove her into my van: from my black Plymouth Voyager to a gray Honda Civic, from that to a cherry-red Jaguar, and from that to a silver Volkswagen Beetle.  She never knew what roads I took; the blindfold prevented that.  I could hear her crying the whole time, but I couldn't understand why.  Didn't she realize I was taking her away from her old life—from that Devil in a Suit who would disturb her sleep, from all those horribly dangerous cases that endangered her beautiful body day after day—to a new life, far from anything that could do her harm?  I tried to tell her all this, but she began to yell at me through the tape.  I could barely understand what she was saying, but I knew from her tone that it was all pretty mean.  So I hit her; that made her shut up.  She just whimpered for the rest of the drive.

Finally, after hours of staring at the winding snake of a road, we arrived.  My brother's cabin had not been used for years, and it was nestled far back in the woods of northern Virginia.  Trees crowded around the house like eager spectators, urging me to hurry and take her, make her mind.  In time, I told them, in time.  I wanted to have a little fun first.  Three years of hunting her, I wanted to be sure it was worth it.

She struggled as I led her into the house; damned little bitch. I retied her once again, this time to the bed.  The quilt was faded and covered with a fine layer of dust, and the once floral-patterned curtains were now pale and limp, almost lifeless.  I pulled down the heavy shades, leftovers from World War II "bomb raids," and the room was cast into darkness.  Just the way I liked it.  I tore the tape from her mouth, pulling off lipstick, too. She began to scream curses at me, the likes of which I dare not repeat in the presence of such people as you.  She swore like a sailor, this one, and the combination of insults the likes of which I'd never heard before—or since—erupted from those gorgeous lips.  Those lips…oh how I wanted to taste them.

I pulled the blade out of it's sheath in my sleeve, and the metal caught the light of the dim lamps and glowed red.  As she saw the knife, my Goddess's yells faded away and an instinctive whimpering rose in her throat.  Her eyes grew wide, the left one standing out against the shiner I'd given her in the car.  She sounded like an animal, prey begging for its life before the kill.  

"I  won't hurt you, baby, I just want us to fuck," I whispered as I put a finger to her quivering lips.  I pulled away quickly, and her teeth connected with nothing but air.  "I've been watching you for three years, girly girl, but I haven't seen all of you yet…"

She began to scream again, a primal sound that shook dust from the walls and threatened to shatter my ears.  I clamped a hand over her delicious mouth, and though she didn't stop, the sound was blissfully muffled in my skin.  Excitement built within me; my stiff jeans suddenly felt about three sizes too small.  "You can make all the noise you want, baby, but no one can hear you except me, the house, and the knife.  And the knife doesn't like yelling."   That silenced her, save for her quiet sobbing.

Slowly, gingerly, I took her clothes off.  I savored every moment.  First I untied one arm, then the other, slipping off her jacket, blouse, and bra.  Her nylons, skirt, and panties came next.  I held the blade to her throat the entire time to keep her from fighting me, although she would've been no match for my strength.  She looked so scared, but I was thinking with neither my heart nor my brain.  My hunger, my aching need, was the only thing that drove me.  I folded her clothes neatly, laying her virgin white underwear on top.  She lay there before me in perfect naked glory; I could see her entire body pulsing with the rapid beat of her heart.  Fear or passion, I don't know which. The soft cream and coral of her nipples, hardening in the cold mountain air. Her legs, tied to the bedposts, were spread wide, a fine nest of dark curls pooled between her delicious thighs, the color of porcelain.  

I slipped free of my pants, allowing the stiff erection to spring free.  Stepping right close to her face, I let her get a good, long look at it.  "Doesn't it look good, baby?" I purred as it ticked up and down with the strength of my voice.  "Won't it feel good inside you?"  I took her high whimpers as tones of desire.

The feel of her hot body around me was delicious, and I fought the urge to come instantly; I wanted this to last.  Her cries of pain and ecstasy echoed in my ears as I moved inside her, fingers flicking over her clit in an attempt to make it easier; she was far from wet and ready.

Finally I allowed myself to come and, with that feeling of boneless (no pun intended) rapture pervading my entire body, I rolled off her.  Never had fucking been that good; I think it was the knowledge that it was dangerous that felt so good.  So what if she was torn and bleeding?  Forget those tears on her pretty face and the words of hatred and anger spilling from her lips now bleeding red from our tear-stained kisses.  I'd had the time of my life with this one, and that was all that mattered.  I craved more, but sex always makes me hungry.

I left her there for nearly an hour, cold and scared and all alone in the dark.  I could hear her sobbing while I fixed myself a sandwich—turkey on rye, Swiss cheese, and just a touch of mustard.  Too much would ruin the meal.  You see, sandwich making is an art.  I had considered opening a sandwich shop instead of the hotdog stand, but then I would spend more time making food than watching her…where would the fun be in that?  My stand did very little business, but enough for me to survive.  I sat in the living room, enjoying the darkness and near-silence of this house.  I felt I could make my home here, once things with the Goddess had been squared away.

When I had fully recovered, I walked back into the room.  I knew she couldn't really see me in the black ink of the house, but I could tell she sensed me.  I heard her whispering prayers to a God who had abandoned me.  Our Fathers and Hail Mary's fell from her lips as I approached.  "No, please!  Don't touch me!" she yelled at me when I reached for the ropes around her wrists.  I smiled wickedly.

"C'mon, baby, don't you love me yet?  Aren't I a great fuck?"

"No! Get away! Please, please, just let me go!"

Her words did hurt me, I admit.  But I figured, hey, if I can't have her, no one can.

No, I didn't fuck her again; she was too exhausted and besides, if I did and she really didn't want me, well, this time would be rape.  I just tied her hands together again, and her feet too.  I carried her like a baby into the bathroom and attached her cords to the bathroom sink while I filled the tub with water.  I had to clean the blood off her skin. When the bathtub was suitably full, I dumped her unceremoniously into the water.  She turned blue fairly quickly, and her teeth chattered like bones in a sack.  I felt the water, and it was like ice.  

"Oh well," I told her.  "You won't be cold for long."  I reached up for my knife, which sat on the edge of the sink.  I caught my reflection as my fingers closed on the metal.  I held myself hostage in that mirror for a few minutes.  My hair, once so neatly combed and parted, now jutted out from my head at strange angles.  My pearl white teeth were stained yellow from lack of brushing…when was the last time I'd used a toothbrush?  Weeks?  Months?  It had been a long time, I knew.  But the biggest change of all had to be my eyes.  It was so strange; they were still the same shade of brown that they'd always been, but the sparkle was gone.  A shadow now filled them, dark and malicious.  I was truly and animal now, my soul lost in the sands of time.  No, I was worse than an animal; I was a monster.  "What has happened to you, Sean?" I said to my reflection.  It didn't answer me, but my Goddess did.

"Sean?  Is that your name?" she asked, her voice holding a hint of hope.  I nodded.  "Listen to me, Sean.  You don't have to do this.  You're already gonna be charged with the kidnap and.."—she swallowed nervously then, like she couldn't force herself to say the words, like saying it would make it happen again—" and rape of a Federal Agent.  That's life in prison, Sean.  But if you kill me, they'll give you the death sentence.  You don't want that, do you?"

I dropped to my knees, holding my hands over my ears.  

"Please, Sean…"

"Stop!"

"Please…"

"Stop stop stop stop stop stopstopstopstop!" I didn't want to hear this, I couldn't hear this.  She seemed to think that she'd gotten through to me, and she almost had.  But I knew something she didn't.

"No!" I said, standing and turning on her.  "I've gone this far.  I've thought of nothing but this for three years, girly girl—nothing but your body and your love and our future together."  I knew I was crying but I didn't care.  "I know you don't love me, you couldn't after what I've just done to you, you could never feel for me what I do for you.   And to let you live would be a constant reminder of three wasted years, years of crouching in shrubs and hiding in shadows, waiting for the right moment to appear and take you away.  No, you can't live.  It's better this way.  If I go to prison, it may as well be for going the distance."

 I picked up the knife again and felt the familiar rush of strength.  I was immortal when I held this blade.

"Wait, please!" she cried, but I shook my head to dispel her pleas.  Begging for mercy doesn't work on a monster.  I stood and held the blade high above my head, and my reflection's eyes were gleaming with malice.  "Sorry, girly girl.  But I can't be something I'm not."

I felt the devil—not the man in the suit, but Lucifer of the Bible—beside me, inside me.  I'd always known he was there, but now his presence was stronger than ever, so strong I expected to turn and see him standing there.  He was whispering in my ear—or was that my own fevered mind? —telling me to kill her, kill her now!  I couldn't resist him anymore.  The ache for her blood was building within me, and I felt as if my body was no longer my own.

Suddenly I was standing outside myself, like I was watching from across the room.  Things started to go in slow motion then.  I saw my arms bring the blade down, right for her chest, quick as the cobra's strike.  Then the bathroom door burst open and the Devil in a Suit was standing there, holding his gun.  Sparks erupted from the barrel as he fired two shots.  The first struck my body in the spine, and the second shattered my reflection.  The knife fell from my hands, scarcely an inch away from piercing her heart.  The blade dropped onto her chest, tip first, and made just a little cut.

I was back in my body then, but I wasn't really all there.  I couldn't feel anything below the middle of my spine, where the bullet had struck.  I fell into the tub, my face landing just next to her cut.  The blood was so close to my mouth; all I had to do was get one drop into me and then, then my victory would be complete…just one drop was all I needed.  With my last ounce of strength, I stretched my tongue out and caught just a taste of the liquid life, just one taste of the coppery and dangerous juice.  Then my visions started to fade in and out, and everything was upside down and inside out.  As I fluttered into unconsciousness, I heard the man behind me say, "Are you alright? I shouldn't have left you! Oh, Scully, I'm so sorry!" 

Scully… so that was her name.  What a perfect name for such a pretty lady.  She was _my_ pretty lady now, though.  I had tasted her blood and she was a part of me.  Victory was mine.  I own her now.

So you see, your honor, jury, I won.  Even though they've got me in these chains, found me all different flavors of guilty, I won.  You can lock up ol' Sean Cane, you can kill him with your needles and your electric chair, but I won.  You can't take that away from me.   You see—hey!  What're you doing?  No, don't drag me away!  I won!  I WON..!  


End file.
